A/N: No beta, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Since English is not my first language, please have mercy on me.

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock.

A lot of people considered the fluorescent lights of the pathology as cold and unnatural. Doctor Molly Hooper was not one of them. Sure, she was the first to agree that it was not flattering, since one tended to look pale, but what did it matter? Corpses were her only company and compared to those her skin looked fresh and rosy. And the only man she wanted to look good for did not so much as spare her a glance. The lights had to be bright so she could to her work properly. Doing an autopsy in the dark would have probably leaded to doubtful results. But whenever Molly did not perform a post mortem, she switched off as many lights as possible during her night shifts, and when doing paperwork she usually sat in her small office with only the desk lamp switched on – surrounded by darkness. Most of her colleagues found that a peculiar habit, because they considered it weird and a bit creepy sitting in the dark in a morgue. But the petite pathologist was not afraid, on the contrary, she felt very much at home there and could not understand why she should have felt uneasy. There was nobody that could hurt her in the morgue. The only other people there were dead after all. Therefore she enjoyed the quite peace of her nightshifts when she had all the time in the world to take care of the paperwork and was not bothered by a living soul. And tonight was one of those nights – at least so she thought.

Molly Hooper was sitting in her office with a steaming cup of coffee next to a pile of files on the table and was just about to finish some report, when the phone rang. She had been so lost in her thoughts that the shrill noise made her jump. She exhaled loudly and picked up the receiver.
"Pathology." It was customary to answer the phone by stating the department and not one's name.
"Is this Doctor Hooper speaking?" asked a female voice.
"Yes." Molly sat up straight, because suddenly she had a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"You are needed in the A&E."
"The A&E?" Molly could not help but ask in disbelief.
"Yes. Immediately." There was some shouting in the background, and then the line went dead.

Molly decided not to wait for the lift, but to use the stairs. She would be faster that way. Additionally she would not have time to invent horrible scenarios what could have happened so that she was called upstairs while waiting for the lift. Not that it really stopped such thoughts. Taking two steps at a time, all more or less likely scenarios were racing through her mind. She only worked on dead patients, so the only reason why they would call her to A&E was, because someone she knew had been brought in. And from the urgency in the woman's voice it could only mean that it was serious, maybe deadly serious. Molly Hooper did not have a lot of friends, so the list of people who it might have been was short. And there was one person who put himself in danger on an almost daily basis. If only it wasn't him!

With a beating heart Molly reached the reception in the A&E and said a little breathless, "I'm Doctor Hooper from the pathology, you've called me."
The woman behind the counter in green scrubs looked at her a bit irritated. "Ah, yes. They demanded your presence."
Molly got impatient. "Who? What happened?"
"It's Mr Holmes, his..."
The pathologist's heart sank and she had to grip the counter. She interrupted the woman, "Where?"
Although the nurse seemed a bit piqued because Molly had interrupted her, she pointed to the right and instructed, "Trauma 2. Doctor Miller is already there."
Molly pushed herself off the counter and sprinted into the direction of said room. She ignored the looks the people on the corridor were giving her. Her worst fear had come true. It was the Magnussen case all over again. But would Sherlock be so lucky again?
She stopped. She was standing in front of Trauma 2. She heard the sound of her blood rushing through her veins in her ears. On the one hand, she wanted nothing more than to get into that room and help Sherlock, but on the other hand she was afraid to open the door – almost paralyzed. She was afraid of what was waiting her behind that green door. There was only one way to find out. She drew a deep breath and pushed the swinging doors open.

As soon as she stepped into the room, she was overwhelmed by the sound of people shouting orders and frantically running around. She tried to get a glimpse of Sherlock, but could only make out a body under a green sheet that was stained with blood. A lot of blood. Too much blood.
"Oh my God," Molly breathed and then a tall man with blond hair in blue scrubs was standing in front of her, blocking her vision completely.
"You're Doctor Hooper?"
The petite woman shook herself out of her reverie and looked into the man's eyes. "Yes." She was not able to elaborate.
He nodded and flashed her polite smile. "I'm Doctor Miller. The gloves are over there." He pointed his head to the left and went back to the patient's side. Molly turned around and pulled a pair of gloves out of the packing, put them on, closed her eyes for a second and then turned around to do whatever she could.

She stepped aside the nurses, who were busy with getting another banked blood, and found herself standing right next to the stretcher. Her eyes widened in shock, and she had to blink a few times, before she trusted her eyes. There on the stretcher lay a woman with long brown hair. For a second Molly was not sure if she had seen this woman before. She looked slightly familiar, like one of Mycroft's flunkies. But it was hard to tell with all the cuts, bruises and blood on her face. But it was not Sherlock! She felt a wave of a relief wash over her and instantly felt bad because of it. She should not feel relieved! This poor woman was injured very badly. But why was she here then, if it was not Sherlock who had been hurt?
Molly's thinking was interrupted by Doctor Miller trying to get her attention by calling her name, "Doctor Hooper, I need your assistance!"
Molly shook her head. "What happened?" she asked, still confused.
Dr Miller seemed pleased that she had decided to be of use and explained fast, while injecting something into IV, "Car accident, Mrs Holmes was brought in with a cranial trauma, several broken ribs and massive internal bleeding. We need to..."
Molly's head snapped in his direction, and she cut him short, "Mrs Holmes?"
Doctor Miller looked confused, but by far not as confused as Molly felt. "Yes, her husband asked for you." He turned around to a nurse and ordered, "Scalpel." He turned back to look at Molly and added, "Although I'm not sure why, so far you've not been a real help." The anger in his voice was unmistakable, but Molly ignored it. Her head was swimming. The woman in front of her was Mrs Holmes? Could it be? No, she was sure this was one of Sherlock's cases. This was just another Janine. Or was it? This was confusing, overwhelming and... Suddenly everyone stooped dead in their motion. Molly knew that sound. Every doctor did, because it was the one sound no one wanted to hear. Mrs Holmes flat lined. That was what brought Molly back from her thoughts. She had to concentrate, she had to focus! Before anyone else was able to say or do something she shouted, "Paddles!"

They had shocked her, they had given her adrenaline, they had done everything they could, but it had not been enough. The room looked like a battlefield, but they had lost the fight. Frustrated, Molly pulled the bloody gloves from her hands and threw them onto the floor. "You did everything," Doctor Miller assured her while getting rid of his own gloves. It was clear to see how defeated she felt.
"If I just..." She could not finish her sentence, because a sob escaped her lips. Doctor Miller walked over to her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "There was nothing you could have done better, Doctor Hooper." She nodded and bit her lip. She refused to look him into the eyes and stared at the tiles of the floor. She knew he was right, but that didn't change the fact that this woman had died. That's why she had become a pathologist; she could not handle losing a patient.
Doctor Miller realized that he could not offer any more support, so he gave her shoulder a gentle squeezed, before stepping aside. Before he opened the door, he paused and asked, "Do you want me to talk to Mr Holmes?"
Molly still kept her gaze fixed on the floor when she answered, "No. I need to do it. I owe him that much."
Doctor Miller only nodded, but Molly could not see it.

After she heard the door close, she shut her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. She walked over to the slab again and looked down on Mrs Holmes. The nurses had drawn the sheep up under her chin. Her face was pale and a tube poked out of her mouth. The pathologist could not help but think about how different it felt to look at this body in the A&E compared to doing it in the morgue. Down there this woman would have been just another post mortem, and Molly could have looked at her with respectful, but professional eyes, but right here and now all she felt was sorrow and defeat. She had not even known that woman and there were still so many questions surrounding her. Molly wiped away the tears that had been slowly making their way down her cheeks, when her eyes caught something on the small table beside the gurney. She picked it up for inspection. It was a gold wedding band, and it felt heavy in Molly's hand. The pathologist swallowed hard, closed her fingers over the ring, turned around and walked towards the door. She was sure he already knew it, but she had to tell him in person, and she had to give him back the ring. No matter what the story to it was, that was the least Mrs Holmes deserved.

The moment the swinging doors of Trauma 2 closed behind Molly, she saw him. Once again today she was surprised, but suddenly everything clicked into place. He walked over to her and stopped right in front of her. She had been right. He already knew. Of course he did. He knew everything. Always. She forced herself to look into his eyes when she told him truthfully, "I am sorry, Mycroft."
The elder Holmes brother only nodded, and Molly was not sure if he was really seeing her, because he looked as if his mind was far away. She lowered her head and saw that his hand that was holding the knob of his umbrella was shaking slightly. The ring on his fourth finger caught her attention and reminded her that she was carrying a similar, but smaller one, in her fist. Of course she had seen the ring on Mycroft's hand before, but never given it much thought. The pathologist looked back up and opened her palm.
"I thought you might want it. The nurses will give you the rest of her stuff, but I thought that maybe..." She realized she was rambling and stopped.
Only now did Mycroft seem to focus on her. His mouth twitched – maybe in an attempt to give her a sad smile – and then he reached out and took his wife's ring from her.
"I appreciate it."
He looked at the ring as if it was a foreign object, before he put it into the pocket of his coat. There was so much sadness in his normally well composed face, and Molly was at a loss. She wanted to say or do something to make him feel better. But she knew from experience that there was not really anything she could to. To lose someone you love was an inconsolable loss and the only thing that could make it better was time. Additionally this was Mycroft Holmes. How did you console someone who was even more detached from his feelings than Sherlock? Molly was pretty sure that any try on her part to say something reassuring – or even reach out to him – would not be welcomed. So the two of them stood there in silence for some time. Both not wanting to be there, but not daring to leave either.
Then the pathologist could not take it anymore. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but she knew this was not the right time. Still she wanted an answer to at least one that had been bothering her from the beginning, "Why me? I am a pathologist."
She was not sure if he would even answer her. He was the British government after all. She figured there was only a small group of people he had to answer, and she was definitely not one of them. But he surprised her when he stood up a bit straighter and told her in a tone that made it clear that it should have been obvious to her, "John was unavailable and I've seen you patch up my dear brother a few times." That was all he was going to say on that matter. But it was more than Molly had expected. She could not remember ever having a proper conversation with Mycroft Holmes. The few times she had met him in the morgue or when she had taken care of Sherlock's injuries while he was "dead", Mycroft had either been monosyllabic, or had ignored her completely. He had almost exclusively talked to Sherlock.
"I didn't know you were married." The moment the words left Molly's mouth she wanted to take them back. This was not tactful at all.
Mycroft did not seem to be surprised by her statement and shrugged his shoulders, "Hardly anyone does, and I'd prefer to keep it that way." He gave her a pointed look. Molly bit her lip and nodded.
He went on, "But that's another reason why I asked for you: You can keep a secret."
There was nothing Molly could say to that. Suddenly she realized that during the two years of Sherlock's absence, Mycroft had had been the only one in London she had shared a secret with. This thought had never crossed her mind before, and she did not know if that meant something or nothing at all. Tonight's events presented Mycroft Holmes in a whole different light. He had been married, and given by the way he looked, he had truly loved his wife. No matter how he acted or what he said, he was capable of feelings, he was capable of loving someone. And if he could do it, then maybe...
Molly's thoughts were interrupted by Mycroft's voice, who seemed to have read her mind (something she was used to from the Holmes family), "He's lucky to have you. Don't give up on him, he'll come round."
Molly's eyes widened at his words. Did he mean, what she thought he meant? Mycroft drew a long breath, gripped the knob of his umbrella a bit tighter, nodded at the pathologist and then turned around. She was too overwhelmed to say something and could do nothing more than stare after him, as he stopped a few feet away from her and turned around once more. His eyes were sad, and he looked ten years older, "People tend to underestimate you." He made a small pause before he spoke again, his voice laced with pain, "Thank you, Molly Hooper." With that he exited through the sliding doors of the A&E and Molly could not help but think that this was the second time she had to watch one of the Holmes brothers walk away feeling lonely.